


Time and Again

by little_abyss



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Gen, Memories, POV First Person, Self-Reflection, personal development
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:27:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22757017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_abyss/pseuds/little_abyss
Summary: Isabela remembers a time just before Alistairbecame.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 12





	Time and Again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ponticle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponticle/gifts).



I remember him. It was a while ago now, that night, but I remember him. 

He’s a king now. Travels with an entourage — an entourage of one, he is Fereldan after all — argues with politicians… seems to be able to ignore a room full of people staring at him and zone in with a weird kind of focus. Yup. Seems pretty kingly to me. That fancy armour looks like someone thinks he’s someone kind of special. Not just  _ special _ ; powerful. He looks tired though, more tired than I remember him. It wasn’t that long ago, but we’re different people now.

That silly cunt Meredith just won’t give it up. She’s scolding him like he’s a cabin boy that’s got his first case of pox — all of this  _ next time Fereldan chooses a king _ blah blah blah. Maker’s Arse, that woman needs a good lay. Alistair —  _ King _ Alistair, if you want to be perfectly correct — just watches her as she storms off in a huff, then mutters, “Well, that was awkward.”

Hawke, bless her, guffaws like a fool. Is she a little starstruck? Oh, she comes from Fereldan. You know, I never liked that place much, but they do a nice line in strapping farm lads and sturdy, sensible tavern wenches. Hawke’s made some idiot comment, but now… oh, Maker, Aveline’s getting down on one knee, this is too funny. 

I bite my lip, though I can feel my eyes get a little round at the sight of it. I can be generous — I can let Big Girl have her moment. Really, it’s nothing to do with me. And I won’t even  _ think _ about the look on Anders’ face… oh, Maker, now  _ he’s _ at it! “Weren’t you a Warden once?”

Ooh, that was a silly brat thing to do, bringing up the Wardens like that. Alistair — the King, King Alistair, mustn’t forget my manners — smiles slightly. “That’s the rumour… hang on, weren’t you..?”

He leaves the end of the question hanging — Anders really walked himself right into this one. I suppose, it’s one thing if you quit Wardening to become a monarch of some description, and quite another if you quit it to become a renegade mage. I can’t help my sigh after Anders gives his answer; another silly statement, just repeating the King’s line back to him. Power looks the same no matter the group, Wardens, mages, kings and thieves. Unfortunately, the sigh brings the king’s attention to me.

It was one night. A good night, no doubt about it. “So! You’re a king now,” I say, feeling slightly idiotic at stating the obvious, hoping my sarcastic tone is enough to keep him on the back foot, “Moving up in the world?”

“Isabela, right?” Oh, so he does remember me. Well, who wouldn’t? “You look… different.”

Way to wound a girl, your Majesty. “Don’t we all,” I scoff. But his eyes don’t leave mine for a heartbeat after that, and I wonder if the barbed tone has struck as it might once have done. Granted, I never knew the man that well, but in my experience, that vague sort of insult hurts. Maybe kings aren’t like regular people. Maybe they can’t afford to be.

Eventually, Hawke is done talking to him. King Alistair’s uncle, or whatever he is, chivvies him away, and with a quick grin in my direction, he’s gone. And I can’t help it, I grin back, quicksilver and vicious. That’s it. 

Yes, we go out of each other’s lives again like — well, ships that pass in the night, I suppose. And I don’t regret it. What would be the point of lingering? We’re always running out of time. Hawke doesn’t seem to understand that nothing is forever, everything changes, and I wonder sometimes at the childishness, the sheer stubborn will that it takes not to see that. But still, as we walk out of the Gallows and into the hot Kirkwall air, I can’t help but remember that night in a very different city. It was cold down by the docks; the air had chilled, and I could smell a storm on it, maybe snow. Time to make for open water, but the night — the opportunities in it — held us all in its grasp. 

Alistair was nervous, any fool could see it. The woman with him had suggested it, as a type of  _ quid pro quo _ for teaching her the elements of duelling. It takes years to hone that craft, but I could tell she was determined, and the terms she offered… well. A girl got curious, and you never know when curiosity might turn a profit. But she had never been onboard any type of rig before, let alone a working pirate vessel, and the sway of my beautiful Siren’s Call in the water soon had her gazing up at the moon through the rigging. It’s a pretty sight, even prettier to watch two beautiful people bewitched by the sight of the ropes, the sails at rest, the sound of the creak of the wood, the slap of the water against the hull. 

In the cabin, in the light of the lone candle — that’s how I remember him best. Almost as soon as we entered, the woman — the Hero of Fereldan, they call her now, though there in my cabin she was Icis — she started unbuckling her armour. “Wait,” I remember Alistair saying, “We need to…” and he cleared his throat, straightened his shoulders, “We need to make sure of what we’re doing.”

“We know what we’re doing, Al,” she’d told him, and removed her chestplate, revealing a fine figure. But I smirked, and shrugged, then nodded.

“Your man here is right,” I said. “I want to know what you want. I want you to tell me what you think this bargain is about.”

Icis rolled her eyes, but she seemed to get it. “I want Alistair to have fun,” she told me simply, then glanced at him. “I love him, but this isn’t about that.”

And from his intake of breath he wasn’t expecting that. To be honest — I wasn’t either. He wanted to ask what it meant, from the sudden shift in his stance and the way his eyes narrowed just a little, I could tell… but he didn’t. When the silence between us had stretched about as much as I could tolerate, I asked him the question as well.

“And you, sweet thing? What do you want?”

“I want…” But there he stopped. For a moment, he looked lost, and then he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, it was like… like watching someone new. Like he’d quite suddenly become someone who knew the answer to that question. He nodded, and told us: “I want you to do what feels good. To each other. Mostly… I want to watch. I like to. And maybe… you could watch Icis and I? If that sounds like something… you’d like?”

“It does indeed, Alistair,” I told him. “Shall we begin?”

And we did.

It was long ago now, but I remember it well. He was boyish, sure, but brave in his way, and when it was over he wasn’t distant or strange, or dismissive of her, or of me. No. He held her hand, and kissed her mouth with a reverence that made me look away. Funny how that works sometimes. “Uh,” I remember him saying to me, looking a little sheepish, “Do we shake hands?”

And we all laughed a little, before I shrugged. “Come on,” I told them, “The tide will not wait, and I’ve my own part of the bargain to seal.”

But I would have come back for him, for them. The heat and slick between my thighs was good, but more than that… it felt like how I imagine home might feel, if you’d done it right. How it should feel, I mean. And I have that feeling now, a little, in Kirkwall… but I also have the feeling of the storm, of a powerful change. Tomorrow, perhaps, all of this will be over, just like it was back then. But there will be other tomorrows, and new pleasures to seek, and their rewards or punishments. The tide doesn’t wait, not for kings or thieves. Not for anyone.

**Author's Note:**

> Ponticle gave me some marvellous prompts for our own personal (writing) challenge. Since it's been so long getting back into short work, I did my best to choose something that was unlikely to turn into a two hundred thousand word beast... and I think it worked. Thank you for the prompt, my darling - I hope you like where I went with it.


End file.
